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Appendix.
The half giant, born of Titans, whatever name they wish to call her. Eithle (Pronounced En-yah) stands at an imposing eighteen feet tall. Half her blood is due to her human father, the other half from an unknown source. Her father has never told her of her mother, though those around her speculate a titan given her size. Hailing from the Windswept Mountains to the west, her earliest memories are of her father and nothing more. Adair Mordha, her father, was a famous mercenary captain who had sought to wrest the mountain range free from the grasp of monsters. However, this requires a small aside…
Eithle’s world is human dominated. Not in strength, but in number. While monsters exist, they are vastly outnumbered by the ingenious and swiftly reproducing humans. The elves of Isvahlia to the north retain their supremacy, along with a number of island nations, the dwarves have retreated into their mountain homes and the humans continue to dominate the surface. Numerous, but individually of varying strength, with a weaker majority, racism was a natural response to the threats around them. The fear of being turned against by stronger forces was too much, and many of the human kingdoms banded together in an alliance with a chilling crusade to purge non-humans from the face of the world. For two hundred years, this war was waged, until recent peace was forged to prevent mutual annihilation. Merely an armistice.
More importantly, one nation involved in the war was isolated by the great mountains to their east, and the sea to their west. The small kingdom of Cnocluain, perched in a hilly meadow, remained separated from the rest of the kingdoms. Surviving through limited mining and agriculture made possible by the flow of water from and sediment from the mountains above over countless years, their arable soil was nutrient rich and afforded rich stocks of food. However, a small population meant that raiding from the monsters of the mountains, mostly goblins and kobolds, had led to the training of an elite core. Eithle’s father was one of many generational commanders. A tall man with broad shoulders, the sort of back that acted as a rallying point for his troops and a resolute wall against the tides of combat. For years they had driven back the monsters, resentment mounting as families mourned their dead. Of course they jumped on the opportunity to go on the offensive.
The plan was simple, in order to connect themselves with the bulk of their kin, a road would be cut through the craggy peaks. A wide road, capable of marching armies and supplies with easy, was necessary for the war effort. For those inland, the access to food and north-western ports would enable additional launching points for an inevitable war with the elves in the north. To do this, the current inhabitants would be slaughtered for the sake of a peaceful world. Motivated by vengeance and full of fire, the mountains were to be hit by a pronged attack. To those who had lived beside them, but had never ventured into the deeper recesses of the mountains, it was like an entirely new world. Goblins and kobolds raided because they were displaced by greater threats: Giants, harpies and a great, silver dragon. The balance of power in just this one mountain ridge was a careful balance. Much like the humans, they temporarily reconciled their differences and routed the two armies. Without being able to fight on a united front, there was little hope for the humans from the petty kingdom.
And so in general humans learned of their hubris. While numerous, both sides suffering proportional casualties, there are some forces that cannot be bested by strength of arm. A humbling defeat in the east by just one dragon and countless harpies attacking from the air left the giants to take care of Adair and his army. Within the compact spaces, the giants’ attacks were deadly, most reaching some thirty to forty feet in height. They knew the terrain better, and while a few were taken down, the militia was not prepared to fight such fearsome enemies. Many casualties later, hearts burdened by unredeemable rage, the remaining tens of humans were captured and locked away as bargaining chips. Among them, Adair, commander of the losing side, seething with rage and righteousness for a clearly just war, was to discuss terms of surrender with the giant’s leaders. Ruled by a council of three sages, elder giants who were considered titans, he attempted to negotiate peace on behalf of his remaining comrades. While dealings looked like they were going to fall through, the difference in philosophy caught the attention of one sage, who talked to Adair in private. Eventually the survivors returned home, under the condition that they leave the war. What Adair gained was insight from someone who had lived many times his lifespan. Over five years, his world view was systematically broken down by thoughtful conversation, wounds were gouged out into the open, lest they fester. While many did not understand, Adair remained with the giants for another two years afterwards. It was in this time that the sage in question bore Eithle into the world.
This is all she knows of her origin. Why she and her father fled from the giants remains a mystery for her. Despite their gap in age, her young self was already as tall as her father by the time she was five. Stronger, too. Yet, in combat and tactics, she was many times his inferior. Nonetheless, combat was grilled into her. Martial prowess, the ability to use a bow, how to swing a sword. Her father was not her father during training, he was a demon. It led her to doubt the veracity that Adair had not just slaughtered all the giants singlehandedly. Of course, he was just a man, and that was impossible, but not for the one who bore the brunt of harsh training. By the time they left the mountains, her wooden sword needed to be replaced by one forged from steel. Returning to Cnocluain was not an easy task. Getting there was reasonable, but resentment had mostly continued to fester. In the wake of the war, tenuous peace had not deterred the raiders, and the kingdom felt it gained little despite incurring pyrrhic loses. They had been abandoned by fellow humans, which really added salt to the wounds. The nation had become xenophobic and insular. Larger, stone walls surrounded the city, the farmlands surrounding clad behind a smaller but still imposing wall. Further farmlands had begun to extend, the beginnings of another tier on the way.
Long story short, Adair was branded a traitor. Eithle and her father were allowed into the walls, where an ambush awaited. Only fourteen at the time, she was chained as no more than a beast in the city square. Her father was hung mere feet from her grasp. Should the chains have been but inches longer, she could have saved him.
Work in progress! Needless to say, she escaped with her humanity intact. Now she is 27 and merely an adventurer. Just don’t push her too far!
